


Sword Dancer

by SolidPersona



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, SCA basically, Surprise Ending, This was an old school assignment but I'm also kind of proud of it? Thought might as well post it, for it being over five years old I surprisingly didn't have to correct much, modern sword fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 18:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6340096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolidPersona/pseuds/SolidPersona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is competing in a sword fighting competition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sword Dancer

The referee called my name for the next tournament, his voice booming over the chatter. I had beaten those in my skill level and next up, now I was onto the third level. It was the third day of the tournament, and now I was against Sir Winston. He was the champion from last year's tournament. Slowly, I made my way to the green field, torn up from earlier fights. Dressed in my group’s tabard, a two headed eagle eating a snake, I walked to the starting position. Licking my lips, I could taste the cold sweat already forming on my skin. The armor felt as if it was slowly growing heavier as I felt my knees shake. Sir Winston walked my way, a man of around thirty-five, and wearing a grey tabard with a wild boar’s head embroidered on the front. Our hands shook together before we each backed away and took our positions. Raising our swords above waist level, we prepared ourselves for the starting call.

It felt like an eternity before the starting bell chimed. Stepping forward with my shield guarding my left side and knee, I tried to set him off balance. His sword battered on my shield as I use my short height to push him back. Inching to my left, he tried to capture my weak side. Moving with him, I warded him back with a side sweep. It was blocked with his own shield as he returned the attempt by aiming at my arm. Shifting my shield, I lunged forward with it to force him back. As he was about to strike again, I jutted my sword forward into his stomach. Dropping his sword mid-strike, he fell back onto the ground as he clutched his stomach in mock pain. The crowd cheered with the victory. Sheathing my sword, I offered my arm to him to help him up. Grins could barely be seen through both of our visors, knowing this would be interesting. One down, four more to go.

 

Clash, clatter, thump, bang! Our swords danced around each other, meeting in powerful strokes. The armor protecting our chest, arms, legs, and head released loud cracks as the duct taped rattan blades connected with vital areas. The audience watched with anticipation, their features frozen in wide opened amazement. They gasped as an unprotected thigh was struck, driving me to the floor. On my knees, I fought off Sir Winston. I was down to the last fight, one more and the win would go to my opponent. I kept swinging and blocking, fending off every attack before crippling his left foot. Now face to face, I used my shield to back his attacks. We were both starting to tire. The laboring of our breath and the sweat on our skin, the way our muscles were trembling in exhaustion. With one final blow, the fight was finished. I heard the loud crack on my chest, and looking down I confirmed the sound. Sir Winston’s sword butted against the armor above my heart. The match was finished 2:3, Sir Winston was once again a champion. Rolling my eyes back, I slowly fell backwards while dropping my sword and shield in mock death. The crowd cheered as Sir Winston offered his hand down to me and helped me back on my feet. We gave our final bows before returning to our teams.


End file.
